


If You Find Yourself Caught

by Siria



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Challenge: Porn Battle V, Episode Tag, Episode: s04e09 Miller's Crossing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-18
Updated: 2008-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-03 20:17:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John drifts along to the mess hall in the wake of Rodney's words; eats a perfectly good turkey sandwich that tastes like nothing much; rubs one hand slowly against his stomach the whole way back from the mess to Rodney's quarters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Find Yourself Caught

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle V.

John drifts along to the mess hall in the wake of Rodney's words; eats a perfectly good turkey sandwich that tastes like nothing much; rubs one hand slowly against his stomach the whole way back from the mess to Rodney's quarters.

"Indigestion?" Rodney says when the door slides closed behind them, his thumb gesturing like it always does when he's a little off-centre and doesn't quite know why, "Because if you want, I've got some Tums, you c—"

"I'm fine," John says evenly.

Rodney peers at him for a moment, then folds his arms over his chest. "No, you're not," he says, sounding as outraged as if John's being the unreasonable one here, "you're—you're still angry with me, aren't you? Why are you—"

John turns on his heel and tosses a clipped "Good night, McKay," over his shoulder. He's got a half-finished sudoku book back in his quarters that he can work on; he mightn't have quite perfected Rodney's trick of losing himself in the rhythm of numbers, but he's getting there.

He's about to swipe a hand over the door lock when from behind him, he hears Rodney say "John" in such a quiet voice that it makes him pause. He turns back around and looks at Rodney; there's probably something in the way their stances so similar now, straight backs and set jaws and tightly folded arms, but John doesn't want to think about it.

"What?"

"You know I had to, right?" Rodney says, and there's such a mixture of conviction and uncertainty in his voice that it makes something in John's chest hurt. "I couldn't—she's my sister, and it was the one thing I could think to do for her, and it's not like—it's as brave as I can be, and I had to do it for her. You get that, don't you?"

John stares at him for a long moment before he manages to grate out, "You don't get to die, Rodney."

Rodney snorts. "It's not as if I've got some subliminal, deeply-rooted Freudian what-the-fuck-ever death wish," he says, arms stretching wide as if to appeal to the universe in arbitration for how much of an idiot John's being, "But it was the best I could do, and—"

"I _can't_," John snaps, one hand—curled into a fist without his being aware of it—lashing out to hit the wall behind him, "Goddammit, Rodney, I _couldn't_—"

"Hey." John blinks, and Rodney's somehow right there in front of him, blue and worried eyes pinning him in place. "I shouldn't have—it's not something I should have asked you, but it, it seemed important that you know. It's not something I could do without you b—"

Before John knows what he's doing, he's reaching out, grabbing Rodney's face in his hands and kissing him so hard their teeth clack together. Rodney makes a little sound in the back of his throat—surprise or protest or the click of words cut short, John doesn't know, doesn't care—but then he's kissing John back, the curl of his tongue and the insistent touch of his hands making John moan as he walks them back towards the bed.

There's no finesse to it tonight. There could be time for lingering touches, gentle kisses trailed scattershot along mouth and belly and thigh, but this isn't for the pleasure of it. It's for knowing Rodney's still here, still with him; it's for knowing that when John pushes, Rodney will still be there to push back; and if John has to test that in as crude a way as this, in the grind and groan of two ageing, scarred bodies, in the heat of Rodney's mouth against his, in the thud of Rodney's pulse beneath his touch when there could be nothing, nothing at all—well, that's just what John's gonna have to do.

Later, afterwards, when their breathing has slowed but John's heartbeat is still unsteady with something he's not sure he can name, he stares up at the ceiling and says, "Kind of a shitty day."

From somewhere in the region of John's belly, where his head is pillowed on the rise and fall of John's breath, Rodney snorts and says "You're telling me," but he doesn't sound unkind; he sounds tired and a little sad, and John strokes his hair until they're both asleep.


End file.
